


Gentle Touch

by hp_fangal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hp_fangal/pseuds/hp_fangal
Summary: It had always been one thing to understand physical affection. It was something else entirely to desire it the way he did now, to want that from one person above all others.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	Gentle Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a text post on Tumblr at https://ginnyweasleys-archive.tumblr.com/post/159699844164/harry-i-dont-like-physical-affection-ginny:
> 
> harry: i don't like physical affection
> 
> ginny: hi
> 
> harry: suddenly i wanna be hugged
> 
> It's a bit more angsty than the idea that inspired it, but I hope you enjoy it, nonetheless.

It wasn’t as though Harry didn’t  _ know _ what physical affection was. He’d certainly  _ seen _ it plenty growing up in the Dursley household, the way Aunt Petunia completely fawned over her son, the backslaps and hair ruffles Dudley received from his father... dozens of little moments from strangers on the streets holding hands, hugging friends, kissing...

Harry understood physical affection. He never experienced it as a child, but he knew what it was. 

No one was ever like that with him, however, and he found himself quite comfortable with that. People coming close to him was more than likely another round of bullying from Dudley and his friends, or perhaps Uncle Vernon’s firm grip that meant pain was on the way. Touching didn’t bring kindness. 

Then came Hogwarts and Harry’s first ever friend Ron Weasley. 

It became clear quite quickly that physical affection was a natural part of Ron’s upbringing. A casual hand on the shoulder, playful pushes when joking around, it was everything Harry had ever watched from the sidelines but never known. He had flinched the first time Ron had pushed him in that same playful way he had done with Fred and George, and when Ron got that weird look on his face that meant Harry had done something...  _ abnormal _ , he had quickly done his best to move on and act like he hadn’t been expecting pain. 

It took some time to adjust to it, but Harry was determined to fit in. 

The next surprise touch came when Hermione abruptly hugged him in that strange chamber where Snape had set up the potions and the riddle. Harry knew what hugs were, but had never experienced one before that night. 

It had been startling, and Harry half-hoped it would never happen again. 

The next hug came from Mrs. Weasley. Apart from the way she fretted over the state of his socks, she and her husband had clearly taught their children how to be so easy-going in the way they interacted with each other. A gentle hand on his shoulder, a warm smile at mealtimes, it was strange to be treated like he mattered. The hug happened the night before they were set to return to Hogwarts. Harry had passed Mrs. Weasley on the way up to Ron’s room as she said goodnight to Ginny, and she had caught up with him just outside the bedroom door. “Goodnight, dear,” she had said, arms lifting and surrounding him in a warmth he had never experienced before. 

It felt like...  _ home _ .

Hermione’s hugs were always startling and quick, but this was kindness and that warm, fuzzy emotion Harry was pretty sure was called love. 

Love. 

What a strange thing it was. 

Harry found he liked it when Mrs. Weasley hugged him, even as much as it embarrassed him. It reminded him of the way Aunt Petunia fawned over Dudley, but better than that because it wasn’t this bizarre, obsessive thing. It was much, much better than that. Kind and comforting, much the way his own mother might have hugged him had she lived. 

That motherly hug almost undid him completely after he returned from the graveyard with Cedric’s dead body in his arms. 

Harry accepted the hugs from Mrs. Weasley and Hermione on the platform before setting off with the Dursleys, but after that, he felt... shut down. Closed off.

The nightmares reminded him of how painful touch could be, as did Uncle Vernon when he choked Harry outside the front window of the house, and Dudley when he punched him in the alleyway. 

Touch wasn’t always good. Wormtail forcing him against the gravestone and cutting his arm, Voldemort’s amusement that his touch hurt Harry much as it had once done to him... it reminded him that touch often brought pain. 

It was better to not want it, better to fall back into the patterns of childhood. Hermione’s hug at Grimmauld Place felt strange, out of place. Hands on his shoulders made him want to flinch, pull away, and hide from the world around him. It took everything in him to not shy away when Mrs. Weasley reached out for him. When the worst of the visions struck and Harry was forced to rely on Ron’s physical support, he felt too drained and empty to care much, but he could still feel his skin crawl. Sometimes touch was necessary, but it wasn’t comfortable. 

He had never been able to figure out if he should initiate touch when he’d been with Cho, wasn’t sure he fully wanted to, when it came down to it. 

The first time Ginny touched him, however, was different.

It was a casual touch, just her hand on his arm when she told him she didn’t think his Quidditch ban was forever, but it didn’t make him flinch, nor did his skin crawl. 

Harry didn’t know what to make of it, and put it from his mind. 

Her next touch came in the Department of Mysteries, another soft touch, her body pressed against his when their group closed around her following the threat of Bellatrix Lestrange, and it didn’t bother him. True, he had much to worry about during that time, but it was nothing like when Ron grabbed at him after getting hurt. 

Harry again put it from his mind. 

That summer was different. 

It was a summer of healing. Harry found himself able to tolerate the casual touches from Ron and Hermione as he had once been able to, but it was different with Ginny. He didn’t know why, but slowly he found himself going out of his way to be a step too close, pulling bits of grass out of her hair when Hermione almost collided with her in midair and she tumbled to the ground avoiding her. There were also the playful shoulder bumps, reaching out to touch her arm to get her attention, so many things Harry had never felt comfortable enough to do before. 

What was it about Ginny that made him willingly reach out? Why was he initiating contact? It wasn’t like him. 

Then he and Ron walked in on Ginny snogging Dean and realized what it was. 

He fancied her. 

When Ginny was around, Harry  _ wanted _ hugs. When Ginny was around, Harry craved her gentle touch. He had to remind himself again and again that he had no right to this, no right to want her. How cruel it was to finally notice her when she had clearly moved on. 

But he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the shoulder bumps anymore than he could stop the hands of time. Ginny was a bright spot in his day even though he had no right to see her that way. 

And then he kissed her in front of fifty people. 

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Ginny asked him when they left the common room. 

Harry felt his face heating. “Too long,” he muttered. Ginny laughed, easy and free, and it loosened something in Harry that made him reach out for her hand. She quirked an eyebrow at him, but firmly grasped his hand in return. 

It was so easy to be with Ginny, to reach for her hand, to relax against her side in the common room. Harry craved her hugs, every intimate embrace, it was  _ nothing _ like he had ever experienced before, and it was wonderful. 

Then Dumbledore died, and Harry had to set out to hunt down the Horcruxes. He had to leave Ginny behind, stepping forward toward an uncertain future that could easily mean his death. 

It  _ did _ mean his death. 

Seeing Ginny on his way to the forest hurt him in a way that nothing else had managed to do. How badly he had longed for her touch, for her to pull him back, keep him from doing what must be done. Would she accept what he had to do? Or would this break her as nothing else had quite managed to do?

Harry couldn’t risk it, couldn’t allow any indulgences of affection... of love. 

And so he carried on into the forest, stood before Voldemort, and thought in that final moment of Ginny, of her blazing look and the feel of her lips on his —

But Harry did not die, was tethered to life by the strange connection forged the night Voldemort had risen again, and when the moment came, Harry cried out his only hope and stood tall, master of the Elder Wand, Voldemort wasted in death. 

When Harry found Ginny later, having returned the Elder Wand to Dumbledore’s tomb, she was sitting with her mother. “Hey,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward and worried. Would she even want anything to do with him after all of this?

Ginny smiled, rose, and walked over to him. “Hey,” she returned before she reached out and gently placed her hand over Harry’s heart. Her other hand rested against the side of his neck. She looked up at him, face streaked with dirt, and she had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment, her touch soothing and welcome after all he had been through. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. He meant so many things, and hoped he was conveying all of it. He was sorry Fred was dead, that he’d told her to stay behind, that he had gone into the forest to sacrifice himself...

“I know,” she whispered back. “But you’re here.” Her arms were around him now, and they stood there, just holding each other.

He was here. And so was she. 

There were going to be so many days of heartache ahead, but so long as Ginny was there, holding him just like this, or grasping his hand, he thought maybe he could deal with whatever came his way next. 

It had always been one thing to understand physical affection. It was something else entirely to desire it the way he did now, to want that from one person above all others. He tightened his hold on Ginny and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. He had a future, full of possibilities he had never been able to consider before, but more than that, he had the desire to share it with her and her alone. 

Somehow, the little boy in the cupboard had found a family, friends, and someone to share a life with. Feeling Ginny breathe against him, being in her arms, this was what he had never realized he wanted before now. He closed his eyes, and reveled in the sensation of Ginny’s embrace and her gentle touch. 

This was what he had been fighting for all along.


End file.
